


Take a Bow

by jaspammy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Music, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pianist Yamaguchi, Unhealthy Relationships, violinist Tsukishima
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29428275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaspammy/pseuds/jaspammy
Summary: It always hurts seeing other people living your dream.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oikawa Tooru/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	1. Handle With Care

The apartment’s walls were filled with anger, not from words but a violin. 

The instrument that he had grown to detest made its way into his hands. He glided the bow back and forth across the strings in frustration, increasing friction the longer he played. 

_That note was sharp. Do better._

He played harder, faster, angrier. The violin he used to play with such care was facing his wrath. He clenched his jaw as he slid the bow across the violin with one more feat of strength before the string snapped against his skin. The sudden injury taking him by surprise caused him and the violin to drop as he cupped his cheek. “Shit,” he swore as he pulled his hand away to reveal spots of blood. 

“Fuck.”

“Tsukki! Are you okay? You need to take it easy,” Yamaguchi panicked as he rushed out of the chair to aid his friend. “That’s also the third string you’ve broken this week; I think you need a break,” he sighed as his hand reached out to Tsukishima’s injured cheek.

Tsukishima swatted the hand away. “Not everyone is a musical genius like you. I don’t have time for breaks.” He reached for the violin, inspecting it for any damage. “That audition is in a couple of weeks. You know how important it is to me. I can't simply take a break.”

“I—”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi, just shut up.”

Yamaguchi, on the verge of tears, nodded as he stood up. “Um, I’m going outside for a smoke, and then I’ll probably go pick up dinner. I’ll be back.”

Tsukishima watches from the floor as Yamaguchi quickly grabs his jacket, slips his shoes on, and leaves the apartment, a common occurrence after one of his outbursts. At first, Yamaguchi would stay, try and calm Tsukishima down, but that only made the situation more volatile. Of course, nothing became physical, but their neighbours had enough of their screaming matches and as their landlord said, “another complaint will get you evicted.”

A few months ago, Tsukishima ran away to fulfill out what his parents called fruitless pipe dreams. He worked between jobs until one day he got his break. A famous violinist that Tsukishima had been following since he was a child would be coming to Tokyo to take some students. Still, he needed to pass the audition first to become his student and he would only be taking three to four people. 

That's how he ended up in Yamaguchi's apartment. It's small, only one bedroom. They shared the bed as they did as children, which they didn't mind at first. It was always a topic of interest whenever friends came over. “How do you share a bed with someone you're not together with? Someone you don't love.” They laughed it off as usual.

Nobody said they didn't love each other. They sure had an unusual way of showing it, though.

But lately, the apartment was becoming too small for both of them. There isn't room for the two of them here, and every day it becomes more indisputable. They're too cramped, they'd touch. Tsukishima thinks to himself that this isn't going to work. _They_ aren't going to work. 

It's temporary.

The blonde sighs as he leaves the violin on the floor and reaches for the laptop on the coffee table. The lights from Tokyo’s highrises and flashy neon signs spill into the apartment through the balcony’s glass doors. He walks to the door and slides it open, cutting his finger against a shard of glass—a painful reminder of one of their recent fights. The cold March wind is nipping at his face.

Tsukishima leaned his back against the cool glass as he opened up the laptop. His last browsing session was still there from last time. He continued reading through an old Reddit Ask Me Anything hosted by famous pianist Yamaguchi Tadashi. At the time, he had just won the International Ettore Pozzoli Piano Competition. People referred to him as a prodigy at only six years kid, a modern-day Mozart, if you will. There was no denying he was phenomenal, and Tsukishima couldn’t help but be desirous of Yamaguchi’s talent and natural gift.

* * *

A car honking from the streets below awake Tsukishima from an impromptu nap. 

He picks up the now dead laptop and pads back into the apartment to find Yamaguchi sleeping on the small couch. With the way he’s sleeping, he’s sure to be in pain tomorrow. Tsukishima almost feels bad for him.

Almost.

* * *

The softness of sleep gradually wears off as Tsukishima hears the clinking of pots, pans and dishes from the kitchen. He slips on his slippers and walks to the end of the hallway when he hears something break and a slew of curses.

“Burn your hand?”

Yamaguchi sucks in air through gritted teeth while holding his wrist. “Yeah. Be careful there’s glass all over the floor.”

Tsukishima leads Yamaguchi to the bathroom sink, where he runs cool water over the wound. An ugly red blemish that would scar Yamaguchi’s beautiful tan skin. He turns Yamaguchi’s hands in his under the tap.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Tsukishima turns off the faucet and reaches for the first aid kit in the medicine cabinet. “I was already awake,” Tsukishima says. He takes out the polysporin, bandages and starts to attend to the wound. He asks, “What were you doing?”

Yamaguchi snorts. “Making breakfast.” 

“You never make breakfast. Hell, you can’t even fry an egg without burning the pan,” the blonde jested. “Is it feeling better? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch for a while.” He holds Yamaguchi’s hand carefully as if it was made of porcelain and would shatter any second. For the first time in a while, they’re gentle with each other.

Yamaguchi giggles in response, a large smile is gracing his face. “I don't know. I thought I'd try something new. What luck, right before I have to perform tomorrow as well. You’re coming, right?”

Tsukishima lets out a sigh and looks up at the white ceiling. “The one in Sendai? I’ll try to come. I have work tomorrow.”

“Can’t you just ask someone to cover your shift?” Yamaguchi whines like a teapot reaching boiling point. 

_“I said I’d try,”_ Tsukishima retorts. “What more do you want from me?”

Yamaguchi feels offended, jerking his hand away. “It’s not like you haven’t known about this. I told you weeks in advance.”

“And I’m supposed to pull money out my ass?” Tsukishima snaps, his face turning red. “Am I supposed to freeload off of you my whole life?”

“I always told you money wasn’t a problem!”

“Not for you. Not everyone is a famous musician. Some of us are _normal_ people.”

Yamaguchi stares at Tsukishima, mouth falling open soundlessly. “You—you can at least _pretend_ to care. All I asked was if you’d come to watch me play, and it seems like a chore to you. I don’t want to do this right now. I can’t do this right now,” Yamaguchi sniffled. Hot tears are streaming down his cheeks. He turns away from Tsukishima and uses the back of his hands to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Me neither,” Tsukishima scoffs as he storms out the bathroom.

Yamaguchi sobs in the bathroom as he hears Tsukishima rummaging through the drawers in their bedroom. It was his turn to leave. He could hear the apartment’s door opening and slam back shut before he lets himself collapse to the cold tile.


	2. For However Long

Tsukishima watches on his phone screen, waiting for the last song Yamaguchi was supposed to play. The concert had decided to live stream the performance on Youtube. He was sitting in the break room since work was moving at a snail’s pace today. The usually somewhat full sporting goods store was empty today. It wasn’t like anyone would need him anyway. 

The audience clapping as he walked out, eager for the performance. 

There was a beat of silence before he started playing. The first key he struck made Tsukishima’s body go stiff. He instantly recognized the piece; Lilacs Op.12 by Sergei Rachmaninoff. All the pieces he played had aggressive undertones until now, but this one was exuding sadness. It started fairly soft, almost delicate. Tsukishima could tell that Yamaguchi was pained. He’d be an idiot not to hear it in his music, the way he played. The emotions coming from that piano filled the room. You could practically feel it. By the time he was finished, Tsukishima had realized he’d been holding his breath. The only way Tsukishima could describe Yamaguchi’s playing was pure, undiluted power.

“Why didn’t you go?” A voice asks. It’s Kuroo. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded, watching Tsukishima. “Isn’t he like your boyfriend or something? You should’ve gone.”

“He’s not. It’s not like that.”

Kuroo shrugs his shoulders. “If you had asked for time off, I would’ve said yes. Don’t you think you owe it to him to be there for him?”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

“Who knows,” Kuroo chuckles lightly. He takes a long pause before he continues. “He likes you,” he warns.

“I like him too,” Tsukishima says, knowing full well that’s not what Kuroo means. 

“He’s gone to the end of the earth for you Tsukishima, how long before you let him come home?”

* * *

“I’m home,” Tsukishima calls as he walks through the door. “I bought takeout for dinner. I hope that’s fine.”

He looks around the apartment. It’s dark. Yamaguchi’s curled up on their living room couch again. Tsukishima sits on the arm of the couch, curls his fingers into his palms a few times. Yamaguchi stirs.

“Hey,” he mumbles, “you’re home. How was work?”

Tsukishima turns and nods. “It was fine. I just got home. I brought takeout from that place you like if you’re hungry.”

Yamaguchi shakes his head side to side, indicating he’s not hungry. “Can we just go to bed?” He mummers with his eyes closed.

“It’s only seven o’clock. You’ll be awake in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t care,” Yamaguchi drawls. “Carry me, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima takes him to bed. He wants to laugh—twenty years old and being carried around like a rag doll. He lays Yamaguchi down on the bed and sits on the corner of the mattress. “Don’t sleep on the couch tonight,” Yamaguchi shimmies backward on the bed until he reaches the wall. “Lie down with me.”

Tsukishima stares at the space Yamaguchi left for him, debating to accept the invitation or not. 

“Yamaguchi,” he starts.

Yamaguchi hums in response.

“I watched your performance today.”

Yamaguchi peeks open an eye. “What did you think?”

I loved it, is what Tsukishima wants to say. “It was good,” is what he settles for.

Yamaguchi grins. “I’m glad you liked it. I—I wish you came today,” Yamaguchi rests his palm on Tsukishima’s on the bed between them. Breath fluctuating, he slides their calloused skin together, slow. Tsukishima’s fingers twitch atop the comforter. “I just want to be playing every song for you. Tsukki,” Yamaguchi reaches for him with his available hand. Tsukishima steps back and pulls away. 

Tsukishima shakes his head.

“Maybe next time. I don’t have time for you between work and that audition coming up,” Tsukishima keeps his distance. 

“Tsukki—”

“Please, Yamaguchi, drop it,” Tsukishima begs. “I already said I’d try.”

“You’re hard to reach; it’s like you’re tired of trying,” Yamaguchi exasperated as he sighed heavily. “Now there’s too much space in between us. Just make me feel something, anything at all to keep me hanging on.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You  _ know _ what I’m talking about.”

“Look, Yamaguchi, what you want, I can’t give you. Not now, not ever. It’s not going to work.”

“How,” Yamaguchi whispers hoarsely. “How are you so sure?”

Suppressing tears is no new talent, but with Tsukishima, it’s harder. Yamaguchi cannot always control them. Blinking hard, he moves just enough that if Tsukishima looks over, he won’t see the tears spilling from his eyes.

Things happen fast, the way the uncontrolled tend to. Tsukishima slams the door, a silent room in its wake. A pain against his face that has nothing to do with trying not to cry.

Yamaguchi falls asleep crying and wakes up crying, but the worst part is Tsukishima isn’t there. 


	3. Timeless Interlude

Tsukishima meets Yamaguchi at a middle school music competition. 

As a child, Tsukishima was the best at everything he did. His bedroom was full of medals, ribbons and trophies, proof of all his accomplishments he had never lost.

He watches from the wings as a brown-haired boy plays the piano. Each note he played mingling beautifully to create a melody that settled into his body. It was easy to listen to, smooth on the ears. He was perfect. 

Scattered applause indicated that the performance was over, and the boy walked off the stage. 

The stage manager gave Tsukishima the cue that it was his turn. He walks onto the stage. The lights are so bright and hot that he begins to sweat. His dress shoes squeak and pinch every step he takes towards the piano sitting in the stage's centre. He sits down, making himself comfortable, sucks in a deep breath of air and places his fingers on the cool piano keys. 

The silence from the audience is deafening as they wait for him to begin. The silence usually didn't scare him, but this time it did. His heart pounding in his chest, he begins to play. 

He played Clair de Lune, one of his favourite pieces. He started slow and gentle, like how the song was meant to be played, but he thought of the performance before him as he kept playing. He was nervous. That boy had played effortlessly, so much better than Tsukishima had ever played. There was no way he could compete with him, Tsukishima thought to himself. Trying to keep his fingers steady, he stumbled through the bars. He was playing with more force and was rushing through the song. Before he knew it, he was finished.

The audience applauded the performance as Tsukishima booked it off stage. He needed a bathroom; he was going to vomit. 

That day was the first time Tsukishima experienced loss. He places second, and the boy he finds out later to be Yamaguchi places first with a perfect score. The second-place trophy never makes it into his house. He tosses it in the garbage bin as soon as he gets home.

A few days later, Tsukishima asks his mom to sign him up for violin lessons.

* * *

Yamaguchi wakes up to the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the window. It was dark. The only thing lighting the room was the faint light from the streetlights coming in through the bedroom's big windows. Fiddling with his phone, he read the time. 5:17 a.m. He could hear faint piano noises coming from the living room. He padded towards the living room to see Tsukishima playing. Though it wasn’t classical like what Tsukishima usually played, it was soft jazz chords, and Yamaguchi could faintly make out the melody. He walked to the end of the hallway to see and hear Tsukishima clearly but didn't go any farther. He didn’t want to disturb Tsukishima if he was practicing, so Yamaguchi just figured he'd leave him be.

As he turned to go back to his bedroom, he realized Tsukishima stopped playing. Yamaguchi stared at him for a few seconds before realizing Tsukishima wasn’t going to be the first one to say anything. 

"Why'd you stop?"

"I heard you walking around. Why are you awake?"

"Why are _you_ awake?" challenged Yamaguchi.

Tsukishima shrugged his shoulders. "Did I wake you?"

"No. Move over."

Tsukishima slid over to make room for Yamaguchi on the bench. It was a tight fit. The right side of Yamaguchi's body was pressed against Tsukishima.

"I didn't know you still played," Yamaguchi breathed softly as he laid his head on Tsukishima's shoulder. "I haven't seen you play the piano since middle school. The first time I saw you, I was like, damn, where'd he learn to play like that."

Tsukishima reached over, brushed the hair out of Yamaguchi's eyes, and then buried his fingers in his soft hair. "I didn't know I still played either."

"Do you miss it?" Yamaguchi’s mouth is slack, and his eyes are closed like he plans to sleep. 

“Yamaguchi,” he breathes.

“Mm?” hums Yamaguchi.

"Nothing, nevermind,” Tsukishima decides. "How's the burn?"

Yamaguchi yawns into his hand. "Better. You know I saw Tooru? When we were in Sendai."

"I'm guessing he went just to see you."

"Yeah."

"He still doesn't like me?"

"Don't think so."

Oikawa Tooru was someone from Yamaguchi's past. The older boy was someone Yamaguchi wanted to be in high school with his talent for playing the piano. They had met the same way he and Tsukishima did at a music competition. Even though Tadashi had attempted to hide from Oikawa because he was sure that Oikawa hated him for beating him, he was surprised to find the older boy pursuing him.

It was like a game of cat and mouse during Yamaguchi's last year of high school. Oikawa was the cat, while Yamaguchi was the mouse that would escape from his clutch, only to come back to tease the cat. It was innocent, with Oikawa showering Yamaguchi with compliments and occasional small gifts. Tooru had been his first lover.

"He quit playing-Tooru," Yamaguchi utters. "He doesn't like playing anymore. Do you ever feel like that?"

"All the time."

Yamaguchi tiptoes his fingers across the keys until they find Tsukishima's other hand and intertwines their fingers. "Don't," Yamaguchi whispers. "Don't quit just yet, Tsukki. There's still music inside of you." He turns his head so he can get a precise angle of Tsukishima's face. "You'll pass that audition. I know you will."

Tsukishima watches the light catch Yamaguchi's eyes. He could kiss him now if he wanted to. He thinks he's seen it in a movie before. 

Too close. Too close. He's too close.

He clears his throat and turns his head away. “Yeah.”

* * *


End file.
